


Gratia Plena

by Femme (femmequixotic)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M, post-OotP, snarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-03
Updated: 2008-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmequixotic/pseuds/Femme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories of a drunken kiss lead two lonely souls together at Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gratia Plena

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a merry_smutmas 2003 gift for lunulet. If you notice a vague similarity to a particular Richard Curtis flick, you're right; Four Weddings and a Funeral was an inspiration.

  
**Gratia Plena**  


  
__

  
The Right Honourable Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic,  
requests the honour of your presence  
at a Yule Ball  
Friday, December tenth  
Nineteen hundred and ninety-nine  
at eight o'clock in the evening  
Sterling Hall  
Diagon Alley, London

R.s.v.p.  
Evening Dress--Decorations

\--

Severus Snape, potions master, head of Slytherin House, deputy headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and recent recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, stood in the corner of the ballroom, glass of Macallan in hand, watching the frolicking partygoers swoop past him in a cheerful, laughing whirl of red and green and silver and gold.

A faint sneer curled his lip as he watched one young couple (MacAdam, Ravenclaw, and Bones, Hufflepuff, if he recalled correctly-- and he always did) meet underneath the mistletoe in the archway for a blushing, hasty kiss, heralded by an explosion of red and green sparks from the plant above.

He snorted into his glass, swallowing the fiery golden scotch with an appreciative sigh. Only upon Dumbledore's insistence would he find himself at such an utter waste of time. He had, in fact, attempted to send his regrets. But the barmy bastard had insisted that it was his responsibility--nay, duty--as a newly established pillar of wizarding society and as a representative of one of the world's premier wizarding schools to make an appearance at the Ministry's annual holiday benefit.

Albus did take such great delight nowadays in foisting such wearisome duties off upon the youngest deputy in Hogwarts' history. Snape's eyes narrowed in annoyance. If the daft old nutter wasn't already a ghost, Snape would have hexed him into eternity by now. As it was, he had already begun to research the possibility of exorcism. Albus had become far too fond of the dungeons for Snape's comfort.

He pulled out his pocket watch, which was, as always, polished until the silver gleamed. _8:35._ He gritted his teeth. At least another hour before he could conceivably leave without having news of his early defection make way to the former headmaster's ears.

Almost as if on cue, a soft cough sounded at his left shoulder. He glanced over to see Minerva McGonagall at his side, clad in a sedate black velvet dress robe trimmed in her clan tartan, her eyebrow quirked.

"Attempting to slip out already, Severus?"

He bared his teeth at her. "And what of it, Minerva? Surely you cannot tell me you have much interest in this festive drivel?" He glanced around in derision, taking in the swags of deep green garland strewn with twinkling white fairy dust, the pots of humming holly, the evergreens in the corner hung with delicate, blown-glass partridges and pears, swans and turtledoves, milking maids and leaping lords, all swaying on their limbs to the strains of the music filling the room.

The headmistress sipped her usual red wine. "I should think after the past few years, a celebratory evening such as this is quite a relief for all concerned." She turned her gaze onto her colleague. "Including yourself, if you would only relax and enjoy the evening's entertainment."

Snape glowered at her. "I should think not. My concept of a pleasant evening has never included being herded into an overcrowded, overheated ballroom with a mass of vexatious, hormonal, frivolous idiots attempting to waltz to what I am certain must be the caterwauling of a creature come straight from the pits of Hades." He cast a contemptuous glare towards the garland-bedecked stage, scowling most fiercely at the too-thin, too-tall witch screeching out some--in his opinion--utterly ridiculous tripe about true love and Quidditch. He pursed his lips in disgust. "Not even that cack Muggles call music nowadays is this god-awful."

"I believe the lady in question's name is Celestina Warbeck. Rather popular amongst the younger set, if I am not mistaken." McGonagall lifted her wineglass to her lips, her eyebrows sliding up as a couple whirled past them, arms and legs entwined. "And I'm not entirely certain that is a waltz to which they aspire, Severus."

A disturbance at the door to the ballroom cut off Snape's sharp retort. Heads turned, whispers ran through the room. Snape watched, face shuttered, as a slight, bespectacled young man entered the ballroom, a laughing, ginger-haired girl in tow. They were immediately descended upon by Cornelius Fudge and his bevy of minions and toadies.

"The illustrious Harry Potter," Snape murmured.

McGonagall followed his gaze. "Ah. Yes." She beamed. "With Miss Weasley, I see. Quite the charming couple, are they not?"

"The chit's barely out of Hogwarts." Snape eyed Ginny Weasley speculatively. She was breathtaking, the clandestine aesthete in him grudgingly admitted. Quite an enchanting smile, and her ivory silk was a perfect foil for Potter's black velvet.

_The great Titian himself would have jumped at the opportunity to paint the couple,_ he thought rather churlishly.

The youngest Weasley clutched Potter's arm, at first looking for all the world as if she were nervously drawing succour from his presence, but upon closer reflection, Snape could see the way she skilfully manoeuvred the Gryffindor brat away from the clutches of various obsequious sycophants and Ministry officials.

He snorted in reluctant amusement.

"Molly was not even a year out of Hogwarts when she and Arthur married," McGonagall said. She lowered her voice. "You know Miss Weasley and young Harry share a flat here in London."

Snape gave her an incredulous look. She nodded sagely, cutting her eyes towards him. "Indeed. Not very many people know of it. Molly only mentioned it to me in passing one day. She was on her way to see them both. The building in which they reside is Unplottable, I do believe, and they've kept it all hush. Not a peep in the _Prophet_ or the _Quibbler."_

"I'm surprised _Witch's Weekly_ hasn't stumbled across that fact given the amount of speculation they devote to Potter and his love life," Snape said, a tinge of irritation colouring his voice. He frowned and shook his head.

McGonagall gave him a intent look. "Why, Severus, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were keeping up on Mr. Potter's media coverage."

"It's not particularly difficult, Minerva." He took another sip of his scotch.

McGonagall sniffed. "Never took you for an avid reader of _Witch's Weekly."_  


Snape ignored her, his eyes instead still upon the young couple making their way through the room. Potter was unfailingly gracious to each individual who waylaid him, smiling and nodding and laughing at what Snape was certain were tedious yarns, judging from the bored glint in the boy's eyes. He bit back a sharp laugh. He had seen that exact look directed towards him more than once during a particularly dull Potions lecture.

Snape stiffened, his fingers tightening around his glass of scotch, as the couple finally found themselves in front of their former professors, Potter's hand still lingering on the Weasley girl's waist.

His eyes darted from the small diamond-encrusted medal pinned slightly askew to Potter's open overrobe to the wide scarlet Order ribbon identical to his own peeking between the folds of heavy velvet, a diagonal slash of blood red to brighten Potter's sombre black robes and pristine white dress shirt. The coltish boy had grown into an elegant young man. He was no longer a unripe school boy but a decorated war hero who had seen and faced down horrors equal to Snape's.

Bugger it all.

"Professor McGonagall. Professor Snape." The boy nodded politely to both, his smile for his former Head of House much warmer. She returned it, resting her hand lightly on his shoulder.

"Mr. Potter. Miss Weasley. Happy Christmas to you both. I hope the season finds you well."  


"Quite well, thank you, Professor." The Weasley girl tightened her fingers around Potter's. She smiled up at him. "Right, Harry?"

Potter gave her a lopsided grin. "As always." He turned a speculative gaze upon Snape. "Much better than last Christmas, eh, Professor?"

Snape gave him a level look. "One would most certainly hope."

Potter's mouth twisted to one side. "Yes."

Snape looked away from the unblinking green eyes.

Potter sighed. He pressed his lips into a thin line, his eyes still on Snape's face. The Potions master ignored him pointedly, choosing instead to take a sip of his Macallan, his gaze directed towards the dance floor once more.

The Weasley girl cleared her throat. "Harry," she murmured, "I think I see Ron and Hermione."

Potter nodded. "Right. Professors?"

McGonagall inclined her head towards her former student with a smile. Snape felt, rather than saw, the glance Potter cast in his direction before turning on his heel.

A dark frown furrowed Snape's brow. He exhaled harshly through his nose, watching Potter and the Weasley chit walk away, the boy's hand resting lightly on the small of her back. Snape's mouth pinched shut as he turned to McGonagall and bowed tightly. "If you will excuse me, Minerva?"

"Of course." McGonagall nodded, hiding the small smile curving her lips behind her wineglass. "I must give Cornelius my regards as it is."

Snape glared at her. "Your amusement is not necessary, Minerva," he snapped.

"Oh, but I believe it is, Severus." She placed a hand on his arm, years of amicable sparring that had somehow forged an unlikely friendship causing her to ignore his immediate flinch at the touch. She gave him a gentle smile. "This is the season to make amends, you realise."

"I have nothing for which to express regret."

McGonagall shook her head. "Honestly, Severus, I'm not that thick. And neither are you."

"You've been speaking with that meddlesome troublemaker again." Snape bared his teeth at her. "You of all people should know better."

"Albus does tend to haunt my office, yes." A flash of sadness filled her eyes. She took a deep breath. "However, I can see for myself that his speculations are correct. No matter how much you attempt to deny them." She handed Snape her half-empty wineglass. "Now. Would you care to accompany me to pay respect to our esteemed Minister?" At Snape's scowl, she chuckled. "I thought not."

He watched as the headmistress swept away, her back ramrod stiff. His gaze drifted over to the far corner where Potter stood, surrounded by his fellow Gryffindors. The boy was quiet amidst the laughter, as he had often been towards the end of the war. Snape froze as Potter turned, their eyes meeting. Potter inclined his head, a small smile curving his lips. He raised a wineglass in salute.

Snape scowled and turned away, downing the remainder of McGonagall's wine before setting the empty glass on the tray of a passing house-elf. He could still feel Potter's gaze burning through the back of his robe as he strode across the ballroom.

A year later and the boy still had the ability to rattle him. He snorted. Pathetic. Utterly pathetic. He tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, pulled at the Order ribbon stretched across his narrow chest. The crowd was suddenly too much for him to bear. He glanced at the French doors leading out onto the narrow stone balcony.

Air. That was what he needed. Fresh air and solitude and to bloody well leave as soon as possible.

He turned his steps towards the balcony.

**********

The stars hung low in the chill winter sky. Flecks of tiny snowflakes drifted lazily through the air, glittering in the diffused light radiating from the Hall.

Snape leaned against the rough stone of the balcony wall, half-hidden in shadows, a fresh glass of scotch clutched in one hand to ward off the icy night breeze. Another quick look at his pocket watch. _9:10._ He sighed and stared morosely down at the heaping snowdrifts on the street below. Twenty minutes more, perhaps? He thought, a bit discontentedly, of the chill comfort of his dungeon at Hogwarts, of the thin volume of Browning on his sidetable waiting for his return, of the cauldron sitting on his workroom table, bubbling with an experimental potion. Passersby hurried in and out of the shops beneath him, shouting cheery greetings to one another as they shook off the dusting of snow covering their robes.

_Happy-bloody-Christmas indeed._ He snorted and took of sip of his scotch. _Bah humbug._

A sudden burst of noise and laughter caused him to start. A short, robed figure slipped through the French doors leading onto the balcony, the glass panes rattling as he slammed the door shut behind him. Snape shifted, intending to make his presence known and insist his unwanted companion leave him be, until lamplight reflected off a pair of wire-rim spectacles. Snape paused, watching as Harry Potter walked over to the balcony railing and sighed deeply, his fingers tightening around the icy stone, his shoulders drooping.

The boy shook himself. He shivered and rubbed his hands over his arms.

He swayed back and forth to the muted music, emanating from the ballroom behind him. He hummed along, softly at first, staring down at the brightly bedecked shops below, before giving into to the inevitable.

__

"...let nothing you dismay, remember Christ our Saviour was born on Christmas Day...."

That was enough for Snape. There were many tortures he could bear, from psychological to physical, but the combination of Potter's off-key singing and that sodding song was far too much for any one man to bear. Not even Voldemort had been that cruel. Cruciatus was a more tolerable punishment.

With a sharp growl, he stalked out of the shadows, glowering at the boy.

"If I hear that blasted song one more time before this hellacious season has ended, I shall hex the person singing it. Bear that in mind, Mr. Potter."

Potter jumped and whirled around, eyes wide. He stared at his former potions master in surprise. "Oh." He blinked. "Professor. I'm--I'm sorry. I didn't realise anyone else was out here."

"Obviously, given your utter inability to carry a tune."

Potter started for the door. "I'll leave you be."

"Stay." Snape snorted at the boy's look of surprise, hiding his own in the process. "If you want," he added diffidently. He strolled to the balcony railing and looked down upon the bustling street.

Slowly Potter returned to his side, never taking his eyes from his professor's face.

They stood in silence for a moment. Finally Snape sighed. "Is there any particular reason you feel compelled to gape at me, Potter?"

"Oh." Potter dropped his gaze to the street below. "I'm sorry. I didn't--" He broke off, biting his lip as a pink flush stained his cheeks.

Snape snorted. "You were not aware you were staring? Not even you are that simple-minded, much as I am loath to admit it."

"Do you always have to be an arsehole?" Potter asked, looking back at him.

"Yes." Snape swallowed another mouthful of scotch.

A snort of laughter next to him caused him to look over. Potter shook his head. "You always have been an utter git."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Not exactly a deferential manner of addressing one's former professor, Mr. Potter. I was not aware that receiving an Order of Merlin enabled one to ignore the social graces."

Potter stared pointedly at the Potions master's own Order badge. "And your excuse?"

Snape smirked and took another gulp of his Macallan. "I've over four decades of being a bastard under my belt. People expect no less from me. And I would hate to disappoint."

"Heaven forfend," Potter said. "Were you a bastard as a child then?" Potter pulled his outer robe closer about him and shivered. "It's cold out here."

"Yes," Snape said. "At least my grandfather informed me I was." He eyed Potter. "If you're that chilled, cast a warming charm. You _are_ a wizard, after all."

Potter scowled but pulled out his wand. He tapped one of the small stone gargoyles perched on the balcony railing, transfiguring it into a wide-mouthed glass jar. Snape watched in interest as the boy muttered a spell under his breath, causing a burst of bluebell flames to crackle behind the glass.

"Impressive." Snape held his hand over the flame, warming it. "Perhaps a tad ostentatious, however. Although I suppose one could expect no less from a Gryffindor."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Hermione taught me."

Snape set his glass of scotch upon the balcony railing. "I ought to have known. It has Miss Granger's mark about it."

A silence fell between the two.

Potter broke it at last. "Listen, sir...about last year..."

Snape scowled. "Do not say it, Potter."

"So we're just going to ignore it then?" Potter ran his hand through his unruly hair, tugging at his fringe in frustration.

"Yes." Snape turned to face him. "What happened was the result of far too much alcohol and it need never be mentioned again." He narrowed his eyes. "Ever."  


Potter snorted. "What _happened_ was that I bloody snogged you." He rushed on, ignoring Snape's irritated glare. "And you snogged back, as I recall. Then the next thing I know I'm out on my ear, you won't return my owls and every time I've come by Hogwarts you're conveniently unavailable."

"And what did you expect of me, Potter?" Snape curled his lip. "To fall prostrate at the feet of the Boy Who Yet Again Lived merely because he found himself on my doorstep in a drunken stupor Christmas Eve and informed me that he thought he _might_ want to shag his most-loathed potions master?" Snape snorted. "I rather think not."

"Then why did you kiss me?" Potter asked quietly.

Snape said nothing.

Potter nodded, a small smile curving his lips. "I thought so."

"Oh, do tell me," Snape sneered. "To what preposterous reason have you attributed my momentary lapse of sanity?"

"You fancy me." Potter gave him a satisfied look.

Snape's eyebrows drew together dangerously. "You're mad."

"I don't think so." Potter took a step towards him. "I think I'm perfectly sane."

Snape bared his teeth at the younger man. "I can assure you, Potter, there is absolutely no possibility of that. You are an obnoxious, overcoddled, brattish little boy. Not the type to inspire thoughts of passion, believe me."

"And yet you kissed me." Potter stepped closer, his eyes glinting in the light of the flames, his jaw lifted defiantly.

"A year past." Snape glowered at the boy before him. "At a time of year when one is far more likely than not to give into maudlin sentiment."

"You've never struck me as being a particularly sentimental man." Potter crossed his arms over his chest. "So I'm afraid I must stick with my initial assumption. Unless, of course," he added, "you'd care to enlighten me as to your actual reason for snogging me."

Snape's nostrils flared. His mouth tightened. "Well, then, Mr. Potter," he murmured, his voice velvet soft, "what would you say if I informed you that tasting of that sweet mouth of yours was my final revenge against your idiot father?"

Potter blinked at him, eyes widening. Snape smirked, his self-satisfied smile fading only as Potter threw his head back and laughed.

"Utter shite," Potter said. He shook his head. "You'll have to do better than that, sir." His lips twitched. "Not even I am daft enough to believe that cack." He looked expectantly at Snape. "So?"

The door to the balcony opened, catching their attention. Ginny Weasley stepped out, looking around. "Harry? Oh." She gazed at them both, surprise flaring in her eyes to be quickly replaced by a more speculative glint. "I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't realise--forgive me for interrupting."

Snape pursed his lips. "No fear, Miss Weasley. I was just preparing to return to Hogwarts." He looked at Potter. "Your companion and I are finished, are we not, Mr. Potter?"

"As you will, Professor." The boy had the effrontery to smile at him. "I hope we can continue our discussion at a later date." He paused. "Sir."  


"I should not count upon it," Snape murmured. His eyes flicked over to the girl waiting at the door. "And I should suggest that your attention remained fixed on a more likely subject."

Potter's gaze followed his. "It's not--"

Snape cut him off sharply. "Good evening, Potter." He wrapped his robe around himself and Apparated with one last, lingering glimpse of Potter's frowning countenance.

*********************************

Snape draped his robe and Order ribbon over the back of the worn leather armchair in his bedroom. He unbuttoned his dress shirt slowly, his mind returning to Potter as he stared into the crackling fire in his hearth.

Potter.

Bloody hell.

He groaned. The boy had showed up on his doorstep last Christmas Eve, reeking of firewhisky and with determination glinting in his eyes_. I think I want to shag you, sir._

The war had barely been over; the boy had faced down Voldemort in late June but skirmishes between the Ministry and pockets of the remaining Death Eaters had continued until well into December.

And finally it ended. Three days before Christmas the last hidden cell of Death Eaters had been located and sent to Azkaban. Life could once more return to normal.

Then Potter had arrived, drunken and willing with wide eyes and soft mouth and warm breath, and the aching want that he'd hidden for most of the boy's last year of school had exploded within him. _I've wanted you, sir. Wanted to touch your skin. Wanted to feel your fingers on me. I thought about it during every potions class last term. Did you know that, professor?_

He'd hated himself when the boy had pressed his mouth clumsily to his, hated himself when the siren thrill of desire rippled through him, urging him to tilt his head to meet the boy's questing lips, to open his own mouth to Potter's fumbling tongue, to draw that soft bottom lip between his teeth and revel in the quiet groan the action elicited, to knot his fingers in that unruly tangle of dark hair.

And when Potter had rocked up against him, his hard length pressing against Snape's hip--reality had struck him and he had pushed the boy away violently, sending him stumbling into the hallway.

"Get out," he had snarled. "I don't fuck little boys, Potter."

He had slammed the door on Potter's stricken face, leaning his head against the doorjamb and swearing vehemently under his breath.

He sighed, pulling himself from his recollections and reaching for the bottle of Glenfarclas that he had tucked away in the back of his wardrobe.

"Do you really think that is wise, Severus?"

Snape looked up to see Dumbledore's pearlescent outline misting through the stone wall. He ground his teeth. "Albus, there is a bloody lock on my door for a reason."

The headmaster's shade merely smiled innocently at him and settled upon the edge of his bed. "And when there is reason for it to be locked, I shall stay away." Dumbledore smoothed his translucent robe over his knees. "How was the ball?"  


Snape gave him a baleful glare and poured a glass of scotch. Dumbledore looked at it sadly and sighed. Snape smirked, taking a long sip of the amber liquid. "The ball was utter hell, as you well know. Cornelius was his usual prattish self."

"Not surprising." The former headmaster shook his head. "I fear we made a mistake, electing him once more."

"Better the devil we know than the one we do not," Snape pointed out. He kicked off his shoes and settled in his armchair, scotch at hand. "Is there something in particular you wished to discuss, Albus, or are you here merely to keep me from thoroughly enjoying my nightcap?"

Dumbledore gave him a long, considering look. "How was young Harry?"

Snape stilled, his glass raised halfway to his mouth. He met Dumbledore's gaze. "What makes you think I spoke with him?"

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "I still am capable of some degree of Legilmens, Severus. Despite my demise."

"Ghosts cannot do magic," Snape said automatically. He lowered his glass to his knee, his thumb tracing the lip.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Are you a ghost, dear boy?"

Snape glowered at him but did not answer.

"And Harry?" Dumbledore asked gently.

"Is perfectly fine," Snape snapped. "Seemingly content with young Miss Weasley."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I wouldn't count upon that, Severus. I would suspect that Harry's affections lie elsewhere."

Snape drained his glass. "I should never have informed you about the events of last Christmas."

Dumbledore twinkled at him in a most infuriating manner. "I'd have found out eventually, my boy. Hogwarts' walls do talk, you know. And that was quite a spectacular kiss from what I understand. Salazar was quite impressed."

Snape snorted. "Salazar is a rumour-mongering reprobate."

"You did choose him to guard your door," Dumbledore pointed out mildly.

Snape poured another drink. "More fool I."

"Much as you want to deny it, Severus, you care for the boy."

"You're bloody mad." Snape took another swallow of whisky, rolling the bitter liquid across his tongue. He leaned his head against the back of his chair. "I care for no one, least of all that ignorant brat."

"You care for him, Severus." Dumbledore stood up and walked over to Snape's chair. He lay a cold, misty hand on Snape's shoulder. "And you have for some time."

"He is a child."

"He is a man," Dumbledore countered. "One who has most assuredly proven himself to be such."

"He is nineteen." Snape snorted and gulped his whisky, closing his eyes as the warmth of the liquor burned its way down his throat. "Half my age. Far from being a man." He opened his eyes. "I am not one of those pitiful aging poofs, Albus, who feels the need to relive his youth with a younger lover."

Dumbledore smiled at him. "I highly doubt Harry would cause you to relive your particular youth, Severus."

"You've certainly become quite accepting since your death," Snape said in irritation. "Two years ago you'd have tossed me out on my ear for admitting that I wanted to bugger one of my students."  


"Should it be up to me and were you infatuated with one of your students, I still would." Dumbledore looked at him seriously over the rim of his spectacles. "I would not tolerate such behaviour from a Hogwarts staff member. However, young Harry is no longer a student of yours. And you were wise enough not to act upon your--er--feelings during his school years. For that you have my utmost respect, Severus." He sighed. "I want you both to be happy, my boy. I feel that you can find that happiness together."

Snape swallowed his scotch. "You are a meddling old bastard who knows absolutely nothing of which he speaks."

"I do believe you've informed me of that fact quite frequently over the years."

"He's infuriating."

"Most excellent lovers are."

"We should fight constantly." Snape countered.

Dumbledore chuckled. "I cannot tell you how many times Minerva and I argued over some insignificant trifle." He leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I can however tell you that apologising for such fights was quite--"

Snape blanched and held up his hand. "Albus. If you don't mind, I must still work with Minerva. Tell me after she's dead as well. Speaking of whom, why do you not haunt her this eve and leave me in peace?"

Dumbledore drifted to his feet. "If you insist, Severus." He paused at the stone wall and glanced back at the potions master, misty eyes solemn. "I hate so see you so lost this time of year."

Snape glared balefully at him and lifted his glass to his lips.

Dumbledore sighed. "I do wish you would listen to reason just once, my boy--"

"Albus." Snape's voice was low, irate. "Enough." He looked at the ghost of his mentor, his fingers tightening around the cut crystal glass in his hand, knuckles white. "Just leave me be."

Dumbledore gave him a gentle look. "Of course."

Snape watched as the dead man disappeared through the wall, his diaphanous robe trailing after him. He quaffed the remainder of his whisky, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stared into the flickering fire. He clenched the glass in his hand, twisting it back and forth, sliding his fingers over its slick surface as the former headmaster's words echoed in his head. _So lost. So lost. So lost._

With a sharp growl, he threw the glass against the granite hearth, watching in satisfaction as crystal shards scattered across the rough-hewn stone, sparkling in the flickering firelight.

__

So very lost.

He swore and reached for the bottle once more.

*********************************  


__

Mr. and Mrs. Archibald Bulstrode  
request the honour of your presence  
at an engagement party  
honouring their daughter  
Millicent Agnes Demdike  
and Mr. Michael Edward Corner  
Saturday, December eighteenth  
Nineteen hundred and ninety-nine  
at six o'clock in the evening  
Bulstrode Manor  
Pendle, Lancashire

Snape stood on the terrace of Bulstrode Manor, gazing out upon the gardens, lightly coated with a thin layer of fresh snow. He turned his wineglass in his hand, watching the merlot glint blood-red in the fading sunlight.

"Do you ever stay inside at a party?"

Snape turned his head, recognising the amused drawl immediately. Potter stood on the edge of the terrace, one hand resting on the back of a wide dark wicker chaise lounge, the other holding a flute of champagne. He grinned at Snape.

"What on earth possessed Archibald and Margaret to invite you, of all people, to this insipid celebration of true love?" Snape frowned at the boy in front of him. "I was not aware you were close to young Millicent."

Potter shrugged. "Not particularly. Your excuse?"

"Merely performing my duties as head of Slytherin House."

"Ah. Of course." Potter walked over and stood next to his former professor, his eyes focused on the large statuary of the Muses dancing half-nude around a reclining Apollo that formed the centrepiece of the formal garden. "Bit much, isn't it?"

Snape choked back a snort. "The Bulstrodes have never been known for their refined tastes. That monstrosity is courtesy of Archibald's great-grandfather, if I do recall correctly."

Potter smirked. "I'm not surprised." He took a sip of his champagne and glanced up at Snape. "I'm here for Michael's benefit. He's a good bloke. We got to know each other during the war." He smiled. "Ginny dated him briefly."

"So you, of course, are here to lord your victory over the poor boy?" Snape lifted his wineglass to his lips. "With Miss Weasley at your side?"  


Potter gave him a measured look. "No. She had to work late tonight at the _Prophet." _He turned his attention back to the garden. "As I tried to tell you last time we spoke, Ginny and I are not--" He hesitated. "Together. In that manner." A flush stained his cheeks. "We share a flat with one other person--a Muggle whose brother is a wizard, to be precise. There are no fringe benefits to the arrangement." He paused. "Er. Any of the arrangements." He looked at Snape, chin raised. He took a deep breath. "And, before you make whatever snide remark is percolating in that vicious brain of yours, there is no one with whom I am indulging in those benefits. And the last time I kissed a girl was in my fifth year." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "As I recall, the only word I could find to describe that experience was wet."

"And I am to be interested in the state of your romantic entanglements--or lack thereof-- because?" Snape asked, taking another quick sip of wine. His fingers tightened on the stem of the goblet.

Potter drained his flute. "You tendered the first volley, sir." He turned an unblinking gaze upon the Potions master.

Snape found himself caught in those wide green eyes, so solemn and serious behind the small wire-rim spectacles. He glanced away at last, clearing his throat.

The murmur of conversation and music and laughter from the house behind them drifted across the terrace.

Potter turned to him. "Sir?"

Snape quirked his head at the boy.

"You don't particularly seem to want to be here," Potter said. "And frankly, neither do I. I only came because I promised Ginny I'd give her regards to Michael. I've done so." He eyed Snape speculatively. "And I suspect you've fulfilled your duty as well by making an appearance."

"Your point, Potter?"

"I'm getting to it, if you'll allow me a moment." Potter frowned at him.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Continue."

"Right. Well. I know a place in London. Good food; _excellent_ liquor. And I feel I need to apologise for my behaviour over the years." Potter shot him an amused smirk. "If you're willing, that is, to join me?"

Snape gave him an incredulous look. "You're inviting me to accompany _you_ to dinner?"

"Oh, bloody hell, it's not as if I'm asking you on a date," Potter protested. "I thought we'd moved past loathing each other during the war." He set his champagne flute on a nearby table. "I certainly have."

"And that's what concerns me," Snape muttered.

Potter pursed his lips in irritation. "Are you going to come with or not? Because I'm starving. The shite they serve at these things isn't enough to fill the cracks in one's belly, much less assuage real hunger."

Snape snorted. "Watercress sandwiches sans crusts are haute cuisine, Potter. Being a Gryffindor, I'm sure you are not aware of that."

"Ha ha." Potter poked his former professor's arm, earning himself a baleful glare for his effort. "Yes or no?"

Snape glanced back at the crowded receiving room. He sighed deeply. "Fine. However, I should like to go on record as saying this little jaunt is much against my better judgement."

A wide grin lit up Potter's face. "Brilliant." He wrapped his arm around Snape's, ignoring the older man's grimace as his fingers closed around Snape's forearm. "Hold on, then. I reckon I can whisk us both there."

"If you dare splinch me, Potter..."

"Oh, belt up, will you?"

Snape glowered at him but bit back his barbed riposte, eyes narrowing into obsidian slits.

Potter's amused snort lingered in the empty air.

*******************************

Snape glanced around the crowded London street. Strings of bright lights hung in windows, shimmering against the grimy brick facades lining the pavement. Ribboned wreaths bedecked doors, lamp posts were adorned with garlands.

Laughter rung out from pubs and shop windows were decorated with the best wares each establishment had to offer.

Snape peered into one of the storefronts, eyebrows rising at the sight of a far too muscular Father Christmas holding a bag filled with what looked suspiciously like rainbow-coloured anal beads. He glanced at Potter with narrowed eyes. "We're in SoHo," he said, his voice flat.

"You're an observant one," Potter said cheerfully, blowing on his hands and rubbing them together to warm them. "Bloody hell, it's cold out tonight. It's just around the corner here."

Snape stopped in the middle of the pavement, arms crossed over his chest, oblivious of the irritated glances he received from passersby. "You are _not_ taking me to a gay pub, Potter."

"What difference does it make?" Potter turned to face him, cheeks pink from the cold, hair ruffled by the wind. "You're gay."

"My sexual preferences are none of your business."

Potter sighed and glared at him. "All right. Fine. Then you're not gay. Although when you kissed me last year, you most certainly felt gay." He smirked. "All over."

"I thought we'd agreed not to discuss that incident." Snape's lips thinned as he stared at the younger man.

"No, you _told_ me we weren't going to discuss it." Potter pulled his coat closer around him and shivered. "There was never any agreement on the matter." He bounced up and down on his heels, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Can we move on? I'm bloody freezing."

Snape strode past him. "Thin blood. It's the Muggle in you."

Potter hurried to catch up. "You're a fucking prat, you know."

"You're the one who invited me to accompany you." Snape glared at a lesbian couple who had stopped to look at a window display, sidestepping their pile of shopping bags. "Bloody damn Muggles," he muttered.

"I rather like fucking prats," Potter said with a grin.

Snape snorted and glared at him.

They passed a small group of West Indian carollers, the syncopation of their steel drum echoing across the busy corner. Snape was a few steps past them when he realised that his companion had stopped to listen. He swore under his breath and stormed back

"..._a new king born today_," Potter crooned along with the carollers, _"and man will live forevermore because of Christmas--"_

"Potter?" Snape cut him off, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him away from the small crowd. "Will you please shut it and allow us to continue upon our way?"

"You've got absolutely no Christmas spirit," Potter groused, straightening his coat. "You realise that, right?"

"And you've no ability to carry a tune." Snape frowned at him. "Frankly, I should say that's much more frightful, given your new penchant for breaking into song at a moment's notice."  


Potter shrugged. "I like Christmas. I like Christmas carols--" He broke off, a frown creasing his brow as he stared at the group of musicians.

One of the carollers, tall and broad, watched them, a slight smile curving his lips as his eyes trailed down Snape's lanky form. He caught Snape's eye and nodded. The potions master snorted, studiously ignoring the blush that stained his sallow cheeks at the man's obvious appraisal.

Potter stepped closer to Snape, his eyes boring into the musician's, his jaw tight. The other man flushed and looked away. "Let's go," Potter growled.

Snape gave him an amused smirk. "Jealous, Potter?"

"Yes," the younger man said shortly, stalking off, shoulders stiff.

Snape blinked and stared after him. He shook his head and caught up with Potter. They walked in silence for a moment before Snape turned to look at his companion. "It's absolutely ridiculous, you know."  


"What?" Potter stopped before a narrow green door, hung with garland twined with garishly coloured lights.

"Your being jealous." Snape studied the side of the boy's face, noting the way his jaw curved into his neck, the faint stubble that adorned his cheeks.

Potter rapped sharply on the door. "Of course it is." He grinned as the door opened and a tall, impeccably dressed man glared out at them. "Hello, Prakash."

The man's face split into a huge smile. "Harry." He pulled the door wider to let them in. "She's on stage already."

Potter knocked the snow off his shoes before entering. "Oh, that's right. I forgot she was working tonight."

Snape followed Potter down the narrow oak-panelled hallway, baring his teeth as the bouncer eyed him speculatively. Prakash merely curled his upper lip back at him, obviously unimpressed. Snape snorted.

Potter led him into a dark pub, lit only by a few dim light fixtures and the lights from a stage at one end of the long room, opposite the bar. Snape stopped in surprise, watching as a woman, clad in a skin-tight red velvet evening gown, her honey-blond hair upswept into an elegant chignon, stood in the spotlight, crooning throatily about...he paused...apparently finding a deed to a diamond mine in her stocking Christmas morn. He shook his head. "Muggles," he muttered under his breath, his feet finally taking him towards the small table in the back of the room at which Potter had plopped down.

He sat reluctantly, easing back into the leather-backed chair. He glanced around, taking in the throng of men filling the tables around them. "Is it always this crowded here?"

"Only on nights when Nigella sings," Potter said. He looked up as a waiter hovered over them. "I'd like a plate of bangers and mash," he said. He glanced over at Snape. "It's rather good."

Snape nodded at the waiter. "The same then."

Potter caught the waiter's arm as he turned to leave. "Oh. Bring us a bottle of Glenfarclas, if you will." He hesitated. "Fifteen year, if you have it." He glanced at Snape. "That amenable, sir?"

Snape inclined his head. "Impressive, Potter."

Potter grinned. "I like my scotch." He smiled and glanced down at the table, his finger tracing a whorl in the polished wood grain. "I actually began drinking it because that's all you drank at Order headquarters." He laughed. "You always seemed rather old-world with that glass in your hand."

Snape quirked an eyebrow at him. "At least I could influence your drinking habits, if not your potion-brewing abilities."

"I made my N.E.W.T.," Potter said coolly.

"Barely."

"Only because you were determined not to pass me." Potter leaned back as the waiter returned with the scotch and two glasses. He poured them each a drink and pushed Snape's across the table. "Why was that, Professor?"

"You were a complete dolt when it came to potions, Potter." Snape sipped his scotch and sighed in contentment as the liquor warmed his belly. "You did well enough to scrape by. Be grateful for that."

Potter studied him, lips pursed. "There's something I've always wondered."

Snape cut his eyes towards the boy. He set his glass down with a thump, frowning as the scotch splashed up the sides and onto his hand. "And what would that be?"

Potter leaned forward, his arms crossed on the table, green eyes dark in the dim light. The flame from the tiny votive in the centre of the table flickered against his pale skin, giving it a golden sheen. "You always seemed to despise me."

"I do despise you, Potter." Snape ran his thumb around the lip of his glass.

Potter raised an eyebrow. "And yet you're sitting here with me." He quirked his head. "Explain that, professor."  


Snape lifted his glass. "Perhaps I despise you less now than I once did." He sipped his scotch, turning his head away from that piercing emerald gaze.

"I see."

Snape glanced back at the boy, suddenly alarmed that perhaps he did. Potter took a long draught of his scotch before setting his glass back upon the table. He refilled it, extending the bottle towards Snape with a questioning glance. Snape held out his glass and allowed the younger man to top it off.

Finally the boy spoke. "I used to hate you, you know." He smiled faintly, twisting his glass between his hands. "Thought all manner of horrid things about you." He looked up at the potions master. "You were a utter bastard to me most of the time."  


"Don't take it personally, Potter." Snape quaffed half his scotch in one gulp. "I'm a bastard to everyone."

"Except the Slytherins."

Snape gave him a steady look. "They have others to fulfil that role in their lives." He licked his bottom lip. "Slytherin House has few enough defenders as it is."

"Touch--." Potter nodded. He looked up and grinned as the waiter set plates of food before them. "Thanks." The waiter smiled at him and winked. Snape's stomach twisted, his jaw clenched. He drained his glass and reached for the bottle again, his hand rigid as he poured another shot. _Bloody hell. He was not--_he cut himself off. _Better not to even think it. For Circe's sake. Not about Potter. Never about Potter._

Potter picked up his fork and took a bite of steaming sausage. He chewed slowly. "I stopped hating you my seventh year, you know." He glanced up at Snape. "When Dumbledore sent you to watch over me at headquarters during holidays. That Christmas Eve to be precise, when it was just the two of us there." A flush stained his cheeks. "We had that conversation."

Snape grunted. He recalled the event in question quite clearly himself. He'd been ensconced in the library researching counterspells to Dark curses for the Headmaster when Potter had shuffled in, hair rumpled, dressing gown wrapped tightly around his thin frame, glasses off. He'd apologised for interrupting, said he didn't feel like being on his own. It had taken Snape a good ten minutes of steadfastly ignoring the boy before the brat admitted he'd been woken by nightmares. Not visions sent by Voldemort...the boy had finally mastered the basics of Occlumency. But dreams of the war, of watching those for whom he cared tortured, killed, maimed before his eyes.

Reluctantly, Snape had poured them both a glass of Glenfarclas and joined the boy on the sofa. He had listened silently as Potter talked, the boy's eyes fixed steadfastly upon the crackling fire before them, his bare feet tucked up underneath his small frame, the half-empty glass of scotch clutched in his trembling fingers.

Potter looked at him now, a small smile curving his lips. "I remember you told me that despite my best efforts to prove you wrong, you did not believe I was mad. Dreams or not. Ignorant, yes. Reckless, yes. Foolish, yes. Quite possibly unlikely to live out the remainder of the year, yes." He looked away, his smile growing wider. "Mad, no." He laughed and sipped his scotch. "Out of all the--" he paused, considering, "--mollycoddling I received that year, I appreciated your truthfulness the most."

Snape leaned back into his chair, refilled glass in hand, and studied the young man across from him. "You had been lied to far too often by that time." He shook his head and lifted his glass to his lips, downing the liquor with relish. He sighed. "Merlin knows I have the utmost respect for Albus, but I considered his manipulation of you as a child to be superfluous. You may have been a stroppy little miscreant, but you deserved to know the truth of your supposed destiny. Unlike our esteemed headmaster, I believed you had the bollocks to deal with it. You were Lily Evans' son, after all, and your mother had larger balls than most men of my acquaintance. God help us all if you had not inherited them from her." He paused, his face perfectly blank. "Metaphorically, of course."

Potter's lips twitched. "Thank you. I always wondered which side of my family tree they came from. Metaphorically, of course."

Snape snorted. "I shall refrain from commenting on the utter insignificance of the Potter bloodline." He sat still for a moment, contemplating the amber-tinged light sparkling through his glass. At last he lifted his eyes to the younger man's face. "You earned my respect that year, Mr. Potter." He drained his glass and refilled it quickly, his movements precise and smooth. "I was surprised to discover myself--" He hesitated. "--proud to fight by your side."

Potter's eyes widened and he gulped down the remainder of his scotch. He licked his bottom lip, the pink tip of his tongue dampening the soft flesh. Snape blinked and looked away quickly, steadfastly ignoring the reaction the sight of that tongue had on his groin.

"Thank you,." Potter said again, his voice husky. "Sir."

They sat in silence for a long moment, neither looking at one another. Snape exhaled slowly and took a bite of his food. _Not inedible,_ he thought. _Far from the quality of Hogwarts, but not bad nevertheless. For Muggles. _

"Harry!"

Snape looked up to see the woman who had been onstage, sauntering towards them. Potter gave her a bright grin and waved her over. She dropped into one of the free chairs, fanning herself. "God above, it's bloody sweltering up there." She reached for Potter's drink and drained it, setting it back down with a sigh. "Thanks, mate." Her voice dropped an octave.

Snape stared at her, taking in the thick makeup, the smoothly coiled hair, the Adam's apple...he blinked and cut his eyes to Potter who smirked at him.

Their new companion eyed Snape in interest. "Introduce me to your friend, Harry." She smiled at Snape. "His manners are utterly atrocious."

"Indeed," Snape said dryly.

Potter laughed. "Don't give him any more ammunition against me, Nige." He waved a hand towards Snape. "Professor Severus Snape, meet my other flatmate, Nigella, also known as the Nightingale of SoHo."

"Prat." The drag queen held her hand out towards Snape. "He does so love his little jokes. Professor Snape, eh?" She frowned. "I've heard of you. You're the horrid, hated potions master, if I recall correctly. Utter bastard."

"Yes." Snape bowed politely over Nigella's extended hand. He scowled at Potter. "Choosing not to display discretion amongst Muggles now, are we?"

"Oh, I didn't hear of you from Harry," Nigella said, pulling her hand back. She smiled sweetly. "Although he has groused about you a time or two." At Snape's raised eyebrow, she chuckled. "You taught my brother. Only wizard in the family, fortunately. The rest are quite Muggle. Father, of course, is horrified that he's one son who's a wizard and the other who's--" She gestured towards herself. "Well, who's me. Does make for interesting family gatherings, I must say."

Snape looked at her in surprise. "Your brother is a wizard?"

She laughed again and poked Potter. "I thought you said he was bright."

"Give him a moment, Nige." Potter said, pouring another drink. "He's only just met you. You're a bit much to take at first, you know that." He lifted his glass to his lips.

Nigella rolled her eyes. She turned back to Snape. "When I'm not in this get-up, others know me as Nigel Finch-Fletchley. You taught my brother Justin."

"Ah." Snape nodded. "Hufflepuff. Potter's year. No genius at potions, though nowhere near Longbotton's level, thank God. Tolerable student." He took a sip of scotch. "As are most Hufflepuffs. Very little to distinguish them, really."

Nigella wrinkled her nose. "Yes. Well. He despised you as well."

Snape shrugged. Potter bit his lip, hiding yet another of his obnoxious grins.

Nigella turned towards Potter. "How're my tits holding up?" She patted her breasts. "Ginny cast the charm for me this evening."  


Potter considered. "Not badly. Left one looks a little small. Want me to fix it for you?"

Nigella looked down in dismay. "Am I lopsided?"  


Potter gave her an apologetic look. "A bit."

"Blast." Nigella sighed. "Pump me up a bit then."

Potter pulled his wand out. Snape grabbed his hand, his fingers closing around the boy's thin wrist. "Have you gone mad, Potter, or are you merely a complete dolt?" He glanced around. "There are Muggles all around us."  


Potter rolled his eyes and jerked his hand away. "No one's going to notice. Trust me. I've done it plenty of times."

"And the Ministry hasn't discovered this?"

Potter grinned at him. "An Order of Merlin comes in handy sometimes," he quipped. He pointed his wand at Nigella's chest before Snape could stop him. "Engorgio."

Nigella's left breast swelled slightly. She nodded in satisfaction. "That's the ticket."

Potter slid his wand back in his robe and looked at Snape. "See? No worries."

"You're an utter idiot." Snape glared at him. "I have half a mind to turn you into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement just for the sheer entertainment value of watching you attempt to justify breaking one of our fundamental laws in order to enlarge your Muggle transvestite flatmate's _breast."_

"But you wouldn't," Potter said calmly.

"Don't tempt me, Potter," Snape snarled.

"Excuse me."

They all looked up to see a young man barely older than Potter looming over their table. He was staring at Potter, his face slightly flushed. He licked his bottom lip. "I was curious--" H e cleared his throat and glanced towards the small dance floor before the stage. "I hope it's not too forward, but would you care to dance with me?"

Potter blinked. "Me?"

The other man nodded. Snape's eyes narrowed, taking in the tousled blond curls, arranged just so, the lean, muscular body, narrow hips, broad shoulders... His jaw tightened and he took a long gulp of his scotch.

Potter shrugged. "Sure." He glanced at his tablemates. "If you'll excuse me?"

"Go on," Nigella said affectionately. She reached for Potter's glass of scotch. "I'll keep the professor company."

"Be good," Potter hissed, standing up.

"I'm always good, darling." Nigella slid into Potter's vacated chair as the younger man followed his admirer to the dance floor. She topped off Potter's half-empty drink and looked over at Snape. The potions master watched Potter surreptitiously, his fingers clenched tight around his glass of scotch. His lips thinned as Potter's dance partner slid one hand to Potter's hip, palm curling towards the boy's arse. _Bastard..._

Nigella coughed softly. "Attractive little bugger, isn't he?"

Snape knocked back the remainder of his scotch. "Not particularly," he growled, reaching for the bottle and pouring another drink.

"I was referring to Harry," the drag queen said, amused.

Snape glared at her. "As was I."

Nigella laughed. She scooted her chair closer to Snape. "You're attracted to him."  


"I am no such thing." Snape glowered towards the dance floor as Potter smiled up at the other man, his arm sliding around his waist. He fought back a completely irrational wave of rage. He quaffed half his drink. "I was not even aware the boy was a poof."

"Bollocks." Nigella cupped her hands around her glass, her perfectly manicured fingernails tapping against the cut crystal. She lifted it to her lips and took a sip. "You kissed him last Christmas."

Snape stared at her, anger snapping in his dark eyes. "Completely untrue."

"Not according to Harry."

"Potter's a bloody fool," Snape spat out. "Delusional."

Nigella set her glass down with a thump. "Why don't we cut the shite here, Professor Snape?" She leaned forward. "For some God only knows why reason, Harry rather likes you. And judging from the way you're clutching that drink of yours every time you look his way, I'd suspect you--whether or not you'll admit it--find him rather attractive as well." She raised an eyebrow at Snape's flinch. "Frightening, is it?"

"I am not having this discussion with you," Snape said, his voice deadly soft, measured.

"Whyever not?" Nigella's eyes glittered dangerously. "Surely you're not afraid of me, Professor Snape. To hear Harry tell it, you've faced down the Prince of Darkness himself and lived to tell the tale."  


Snape bared his teeth. "I have."

Nigella tilted her head to one side. "Well, then."  


"I have no need to justify myself to you."

Nigella shrugged. "He won't wait around forever, you know." She nodded towards the dance floor. "There are plenty of tricks sniffing around him. Muggle and wizard."

Snape drained his glass of scotch and stood up abruptly, the room spinning only once before he caught his balance, teeth gritted. "Then perhaps he should take one of them up on his offer." He glanced in Potter's direction. The whelp had moved closer to his partner, still smiling up at him. He snorted. "Or perhaps he already plans to."

"You're jealous," the drag queen said matter-of-factly.

Snape snorted. "I can assure you, madam, I am nothing of the sort." He jerked his chin towards Potter. "Tell him I've returned to Hogwarts."

He wheeled around, his overrobe billowing out around him. He ignored Nigella's half-hearted "Professor" behind him as he strode out of the pub, passing Prakash in the hallway. The tall Indian held the door open for him as he stormed out into the snowy street.

Ridiculous, he thought, stomping down the still-crowded pavement. The utter nerve of that--that--whatever the hell it was telling him what he felt. He knew what he felt towards Potter. And he most definitely was not jealous.

Or attracted to the brat.

Of course he wasn't.

"Professor Snape!"

He stopped in the middle of the pavement, shoulders stiff. With a sigh, he turned around. Potter was hurrying towards him, his feet kicking aside the dingy grey slush strewn across the concrete. "What, Potter?"

Potter stopped before him, out of breath, his cheeks pink. "Nige said you were leaving."

"That would be correct." Snape crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Why?" Potter asked, eyes focused on Snape's face.

Snape sighed. "It is late, Potter. I have responsibilities at Hogwarts."

Potter pulled Snape away from the milling throng into a nearby alley, occupied only by a tomcat or two. His gaze never left Snape's. The older man stiffened.

"Then you weren't angry?" Potter asked, his fingers brushing lightly against Snape's arm.

The potions master frowned at him, pulling his arm away. "What on earth are you on about, Potter?"

"I think you know." Potter gave him a level look. "It was only a dance."

"You can dance with whichever young degenerate you choose." Snape curled his lip in disdain. "You're a grown man, Potter, capable of making your own decisions, are you not?"  


A slow, easy smile curved Potter's lips. "Yes." He moved nearer to Snape, his warm breath misting in the icy air. "You didn't think much of Thomas, then?"

"Is that his name?" Snape stood still, his mind whirling. He could smell the scent of whisky on Potter's soft mouth, smell the musky aroma of the young man himself. He caught his breath.

"Yes." Green eyes gazed up at him. "You didn't find him attractive?"

"No," Snape said shortly. He stepped closer to the boy, finding himself rather amused by Potter's sharp inhalation. "And yourself?" he asked, his voice velvet and silk.

Potter shivered. "No."

"Good," Snape murmured, still caught by those wide, mesmerising eyes. Slowly, without thought, he leaned forward, his lips centimetres from Potter's. "I should hate to think you were superficial enough to be spellbound by a pretty face and a glib tongue."

Potter closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, his breath ghosting across Snape's mouth. "Never." He opened his eyes and smiled. "Although the glib tongue does sound nice." His gaze drifted to Snape's mouth. "As long as it has a sharp edge to it."

"That can be arranged," Snape said, his fingers sliding up of their own accord to cup the curve of Potter's cheek.

"It can?" Potter asked, breathless, rubbing his cheek against Snape's palm with a soft moan.

"Anything can be arranged, Potter." Snape leaned forward, his lips almost brushing against Potter's. "Anything."

Potter inhaled sharply. Snape crushed his lips against Potter's, his mouth opening against the younger man's. Potter moaned and grabbed Snape's overrobe, twisting his fingers in the soft wool as he leaned into the kiss. His mouth moved against Snape's mouth; his tongue flicked eagerly against the older man's tongue.

Snape's hand slid around to the back of Potter's neck, his fingers tangling in the soft hair at the boy's nape. He pulled him closer, twisted around so that Potter was up against a crumbling brick wall. He pressed his body against Potter's, his mouth bruising the younger man's lips. A push of his hips and Potter gasped, digging his fingers into Snape's arms.

"Oh, God," he whispered against Snape's mouth.

Snape caught the younger man's bottom lip between his teeth and bit it lightly. He shifted against Potter, his hip pressing against the boy's erection. Snape hissed, feeling the answering ache in his own cock.

He froze, finally pulling himself away from the boy. _This was Potter. This was mad._ Potter stared at him blankly through a lusty haze, tried to pull him back closer. Snape disentangled himself.

"Don't," Potter said, his eyes wild.

Snape backed away from him. --I must."

Potter stepped closer. "No."

Snape laughed bitterly. "Don't be ridiculous, Potter. You don't know what you're nattering about."  


"I want you," Potter said, a stubborn glint in his eye. "I have since--"

Snape held up his hand, cutting him off. "Enough." He looked at Potter with bleak eyes. "Enough. This is mad." He shook his head. "_I_ am mad."

"You're not--" A look from Snape caused Potter to stop. He glared balefully at Snape.

Snape sighed. "Many thanks for dinner, Mr. Potter." He inclined his head. "It was--enlightening."

"Professor--"

"Leave it be, Potter." Snape pressed his lips together, his brow furrowing. "If you will excuse me, I must ascertain that my House is still in one piece." He nodded brusquely and without waiting for a reply, Apparated to the solitary comfort of his rooms.

He dropped into an armchair and covered his face with a shaking hand. Bloody. Damn. Hell.

He drew a deep breath and leaned his head against the back of the chair. He was buggered, of that much he was certain.

There was only one way to deal with a crisis of this level.

Avoid the brat at all costs.

Somehow, he thought with a sigh, that didn't seem to be a possibility.

*********************************  


__

The Order of the Phoenix  
request the honour of your presence  
for Christmas Eve dinner  
Friday, December twenty-fourth  
Nineteen hundred and ninety-nine  
at seven o'clock in the evening  
Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London

Snape sighed yet again as he took his seat between Minerva McGonagall and Remus Lupin at the long table in the dining room of the former Black house.

"Remind me once more why I agreed to attend this ridiculous excuse for merrymaking?" he asked McGonagall, his voice low.

"Albus' pestering," she replied, reaching for her wine glass. "And do stop moaning about it, Severus."

"I'm beginning to loathe that man," Snape murmured, looking around the table as he unfolded his napkin and draped it across his lap. There was the usual preponderance of Weasleys scattered amongst the seats. Nymphadora Tonks was in deep conversation with Ginny Weasley, their heads close together, her fuchsia hair clashing horridly with the other girl's red locks. Hestia Jones and Kingsley Shacklebolt were assisting Molly and Arthur Weasley with the steaming bowls and platters and plates of food. Mundungus Fletcher had cornered Sturgis Podmore and the Weasley twins and was regaling them with the tale of his latest scam.

The door to the dining room slammed open with a clatter and a shout of laughter. Ron Weasley burst into the room, followed quickly by Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, all three pink-cheeked and in high spirits. Snape stared transfixed at the rumpled, windblown Potter, whose eyes sparkled with mirth, lips curved in wide grin.

The boy was utterly beautiful.

He jerked his gaze away, staring at his empty plate instead as he exhaled slowly.

"Oi, Ron!" One of the twins shouted across the room at their younger brother. "How was the match?"

"Bloody amazing," Weasley exclaimed. "You should have been there. Best the Cannons have played in years!"

"Only Ron could get so excited about his team losing," Potter said with a laugh. "I told him the United would kick their collective arses back to Chudley...and they did." He grinned at his best friend.

"But they only lost by twenty points," Weasley insisted. "It's a Christmas miracle. I'm telling you, Harry. Nothing like it ever in my lifetime."

"Sit," Molly Weasley said, pushing her youngest son towards the table. "We've been waiting on you lot."

Snape looked up as the chair across from him was pulled out. Potter sat down in it and gave him a small smile. "Professor."

_Bugger. Bugger, fuck, wank._ Snape nodded curtly at him. "Potter."

Potter looked over at Lupin. "Happy Christmas, Remus."

The wolf smiled back at him. "Happy Christmas, Harry. So the United won, eh?"

Potter nodded. "Fantastic match."

Weasley leaned across the Granger chit. "Cannons would have definitely won if you'd been their Seeker, Harry. Wish you'd taken them up on their offer. Bet you'd be happier than having to learn all that shite we've been studying in training." He looked at Lupin. "Talk some sense into him, will you, Remus? He's been grumbling for months about how much he despises the Auror division."

Lupin laughed and shook his shaggy head. "I've tried, Ron. He's stubborn."

Potter flushed. "Yeah, well, it'd be all right if they weren't so fucking anal about everything. And God forbid you even suggest using magic that smacks even slightly of the Dark Arts. It's bloody impractical the way they do things."

"Which is why you'd be better off playing for the Cannons. Or the United. Or the Falcons," Weasley pointed out. "All of whom have offered for you." He looked at his friend in disgust. "Bloody hell, Harry, even England's sniffing after you."

Snape raised an eyebrow and took the platter of roast turkey McGonagall handed him. "Potter, he of the Snitch-obsessed, turned down a Quidditch team?" He slid a slice of turkey onto his plate and passed it on to Lupin, ignoring Weasley's look of surprise at his unexpected comment.

Potter gazed at him. "I didn't much feel like playing Quidditch this past year." He served himself a generous helping of Yorkshire pudding. "Thought I'd be more useful if I continued with Auror training."

"Yes, Quidditch is so very trivial, is it not?" Snape reached for his glass of wine and sipped it.

"Here, now," Weasley began.

Potter cut him off, his eyes still fixed on Snape's face. "As a matter of fact, in the grand scheme of things, it is. I can do more good as an Auror."

Snape curled his lip in disgust. "Typical Gryffindor comment." He ignored the glares he received from either side and leaned forward, pointing his knife at the boy across from him. "I would daresay there are those in this room, Potter, who would claim that you have already done a satisfactory amount of whatever you mean by the term --good.'" At Potter's amused smirk, he snorted. "I would not be one of them. However, if you are unhappy in your present circumstances, bloody well change them. Not a difficult decision to make."

"Severus," Lupin said in surprise, "are you actually suggesting that Harry turn his attention solely to Quidditch?"

Snape glowered at him. "I'm suggesting that the prat do what he wants to do, not that which is expected of him by others. I should think he's fulfilled that requirement already, would you not agree, Lupin?"

Lupin gave him a level look. "Yes."

"Then I am assuming you should also agree that the boy should at least be allowed an opportunity to do that which makes him happy for once. God knows it's a rare enough chance that any of us obtain in these pathetic existences of ours. I should think that being the esteemed Saviour of the Wizarding World should grant the little monster that small comfort."  


Potter lifted his chin. "This coming from you of all people? You won't even allow yourself to be happy."

"Harry..." Weasley jabbed him with his elbow.

Snape took a bite of turkey and chewed slowly. He swallowed, licking his bottom lip. Potter's eyes flicked down to his mouth, then back up again, his cheeks flushing. Snape set his fork down and gazed unblinking at the younger man. "I have far more than you for which to atone, Mr. Potter."

Potter returned his stare, oblivious to the sideways looks from the others around them. "I rather think you've paid your debt, Professor Snape."

Snape leaned back in his chair. "That, Potter, is a matter of opinion." He picked his fork up again, studiously avoiding the brat's intent gaze and McGonagall's curious glances.

He ate in silence, all too aware of the boy across from him.

*************************************

Snape stood on the terrace, watching flakes of snow drift lazily through the night air. He could still hear the party inside, the voices raised in song and cheer, the music from the Muggle stereo the twins had charmed to work on magic.

He heard the soft click of the door behind him and sighed. "Potter."

"How did you know?" The boy came up beside him, his arms wrapped around himself.

Snape gave him a acrimonious glare. "We seem to be meeting quite frequently in this manner."

Potter smiled at him. "You seem to like the cold."

Snape stared off into the falling snow. "There is peace here."

"It's odd, isn't it?" Potter scooped a handful of snow from the low terrace wall, forming a small ball between his pale hands. "How much it's snowed this year?" He tossed the snowball across the tiny garden, watching in satisfaction as it splattered against the frozen fountain. "It's not normally like that here."

"Silent, and soft, and slow descends the snow," Snape quoted. "Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression, even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession, the troubled sky reveals the grief it feels."

Potter looked at him. "That's beautiful. What is it?"

_"Snow-Flakes._ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow." Snape looked up at the black velvet sky. "Occasionally Muggles are able to see the magic in simple things far better than we." He glanced over at Potter. "The world is being cleansed of its sorrow, Mr. Potter."

Potter sighed and leaned against the terrace wall. "Are you ever going to call me Harry?"

"Whyever should I?" Snape turned dark eyes on him.

Potter met his gaze, his fingers pushing at the drifted snow piled atop the wall. "I should think we'd moved past that point by now." He stepped towards Snape. "We are friends, after all, aren't we?"

"I should think not," Snape said dryly. "Nor are we likely to be."

Potter frowned at him, running his fingers through his unruly hair in frustration. "Then what exactly are we, professor?"

_"We_ are nothing, Potter."

"That's shite and you know it." The boy glared at him, his jaw raised defiantly. "You're the one who kissed--"  


"A mistake that shan't be repeated," Snape snapped.

They stood in silence for a long moment, glowering at each other. Finally Potter took another step closer, green eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "What is it you're afraid of?" His fingers closed lightly around Snape's arm, his thumb tracing small circles on the potions master's robe. Snape closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, wondering why he could not--would not--pull away from the boy's burning touch.

Potter was inches away from him, his breath ghosting over Snape's cheek. "What is it you want, professor? What is it you need?"

Snape's breath caught as Potter pressed his soft lips to the angular curve of his jaw. "Stop," Snape murmured, lifting his chin higher.

Potter's mouth trailed down his neck, his teeth nipping gently at the soft flesh. "Why?"

Snape tangled his fingers in the boy's silky hair. "Because this is mad. You're you--" He hissed as Potter pressed up against him, grinding his obvious erection against Snape's hip as he bit along the older man's jaw. "Oh, god," he murmured, pulling Potter closer and rocking his own hips against the boy's. "Because you're you, and I loathe you, and you despise me, and I'm --" He gasped as Potter's fingers brushed across the front of his robe, lightly grazing his swelling cock. "Bloody hell, I'm twice your age." He caught Potter's lips with his, his tongue flicking at the corners of the boy's mouth. He groaned as Potter's hand closed round his cock, squeezing and stroking through the thick layers of wool. He pushed his hips forward into Potter's hand, pulling his mouth from the younger man's. "Merlin..."

"Please, don't make me stop," Potter whispered against his neck, his fingers still moving gently across Snape's cock. "I want you." He looked at his former professor, his eyes dark with desire. "I want you for Christmas."

"You've lost your mind," Snape whispered, turning his head to capture Potter's mouth again. His hand slid down to cup Potter's arse, pulling him flush against him. The boy moaned , his tongue slipping lightly over Snape's, teasing, tantalising. Snape's fingers slid over the curve of Potter's arse, kneading the firm flesh with his fingertips.

Potter pulled away reluctantly. He licked his damp lips. "Say yes." His eyes were wide. "Please."

Snape looked at him for a long moment. Silently, he wrapped his arms around Potter, pulling him up against him once more, and, with a sharp crack, they Apparated.

********************************

Snape pushed Potter onto the bed, the only light in the room coming from moonlight streaming through the wide bay window in one wall.

Potter shrugged out of his robe, throwing it to the end of the bed. He kicked his trainers off, one at a time and jerked his jumper over his head. "Where are we?" he gasped, lifting his mouth for another kiss.

Snape obliged, worrying the younger man's bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled at his own robe. "Upstairs," he murmured. "I thought it wise not to overtax ourselves." He plucked Potter's spectacles from his nose and set them gently on the sidetable.

Potter laughed and rolled on top of him, kissing down his neck. "A veritable Solomon." His fingers scrabbled at the buttons of Snape's shirt. He pushed the material from Snape's shoulders, his mouth finding the soft skin beneath and sucking lightly. "What if they come looking for us?"  


"They won't." Snape pulled his wand from his trousers pocket and murmured an incantation towards the door. "And if they do, they shan't find us."

Potter kissed him, taking his wand from his fingers and tossing it aside. Snape thought perhaps he should protest that nonchalance, but then Potter's fingers closed once more around his aching cock ,and he arched into the soft touch with a grunt.

Potter kissed down Snape's bare chest, his tongue grazing Snape's hard nipples. The potions master groaned and writhed under the burning heat of the boy's mouth, the firm stroke of his hand. He couldn't recall at all why he had ever considered this to be a bad idea.

Potter sat up, straddling Snape's hips. He unbuttoned the first few buttons of his jeans, revealing a sliver of white cotton. Snape's hands caught Potter's hips, his thumbs pulling the flaps of denim wider.

"Do you want to see me?" Potter asked, his voice husky.

Snape nodded silently.

Slowly Potter raised up, pushing his jeans down his thighs. With some manoeuvring--Snape was never certain exactly how--he was able to get them off. He loomed over Snape, his y-fronts stretched tight by his swollen cock, a damp patch staining the front of the white cotton. Snape brushed his fingertips across Potter's erection, eliciting a sharp groan. Potter knocked Snape's hand away.

Snape watched as Potter pushed his y-fronts down, revealing his swollen, heavy cock, reddened head already damp. With a groan, he grabbed the younger man and flipped him over, pressing him into the mattress as he kissed him. Potter tasted of wine and whisky and Molly Weasley's plum pudding. Utterly delectable, Snape thought, his hand closing around Potter's swollen cock. He was barely aware of the boy's soft gasp, of his muffled moan as his thumb slid over the leaking tip.

Snape buried his face in the curve of Potter's neck. He could smell the musky scent of the younger man's arousal, smell the lingering tang of his sandalwood soap. His hand slipped up Potter's cock, circled the head, slid back down. Over and over and over again.

He raised his head and looked down into Potter's wild eyes, his flushed face. "Feel good?" he asked, his mouth trailing across Potter's cheek.

His only response was a whimpered groan and a sharp upward thrust of Potter's hips. Slowly, Snape began to kiss down Potter's chest, following the narrow trail of dark hair that led down his stomach. He nipped the boy's hipbone, his tongue dipping into the shallow curves and creases between hip and thigh. His skin tasted of salty sweat and bitter sandalwood. "Beautiful," he murmured against the thatch of dark curls at the base of Potter's cock. He ran his tongue along the underside of Potter's erection, revelling in the sharp cry of delight that action wrenched from the boy.

"Please," Potter moaned, staring down at him. "Please."

Snape smirked at him. "You want this?" He flicked his tongue at the head of Potter's cock.

"God, yes." Potter grabbed the duvet in both hands, twisting it in his fingers. "Please."

Snape slid his mouth over Potter's cock, relaxing his throat as he took in as much of the boy's length as possible. Potter gasped and pushed up. Slowly, Snape sucked the younger man's cock, his tongue swirling around the head, lapping at the tiny slit, caressing the sensitive underside. Potter gasped and moaned and writhed and panted, his hips thrusting upwards, wanting more.

Snape pulled back just before Potter reached the edge, At Potter's frustrated gasp, Snape smirked. He slid over the younger man, his mouth brushing across his cheek. "I want you to come with my cock inside you," he murmured, nipping at Potter's earlobe.

"Oh, god," Potter turned his head and kissed him hard. "Yes."

Snape grabbed his wand from the floor and, placing the tip against his palm, murmured a Latin incantation as Potter watched, eyes wide. His fingers immediately dripped with fragrant oil. He rubbed his palms together, smearing the slippery liquid over his hands, releasing the heady aroma of cloves.

"Now that's a handy trick," Potter gasped as Snape slid a slick finger through his crease.

"Perhaps I should teach it to you someday." Snape pushed the tip of his finger against the sensitive puckers of Potter's entrance.

The boy's hips bucked. "Yes." He threw his head back against the mattress as Snape's finger slid within him. "Oh, god, yes."

Slowly, methodically Snape began to circle his fingertip against the soft skin, loosening it. Another finger soon followed and he began to scissor them within Potter, his free hand sliding down to stroke the slick oil over his own aching erection. Potter groaned and pulled at him.

"God, I need you."  


Snape leaned forward and sucked at Potter's taut nipple, biting and licking and sucking the hardened nub as the boy writhed against him, his soft moans filling the room. His own breathing grew harsh, erratic as his lust for the younger man began to throb through his tense body. His leaking cock rubbed against Potter's hip, sending frissons of want exploding through him. He rocked his hips forward, groaning.

Potter's fingers dug into his shoulders as he pushed his own hips up, impaling himself further upon Snape's fingers. His eyes were dark, wide; his neck arched long, a perfect pale expanse of soft flesh. Snape's lips slid down the boy's throat, his sharp teeth leaving behind a fading pink trail of bite marks.

"Please," Potter moaned, hissing sharply as Snape's fingertips skittered across the smooth nub of his prostate. "Fuck." He ground his damp cock against Snape's belly.

With a groan, Snape pulled his fingers out and pushed Potter's muscular thighs wide as he leaned back upon his knees. His hands slid over the younger man's velvet skin, his thumb traced small circles against the crease of his arse and thigh. He stroked his own swollen prick, his fingertips sliding lightly across his tight balls. He stared down at Potter, a perfect, flushed, panting embodiment of wanton abandon if ever there was one. The boy's chest glistened in the moonlight; it heaved wildly. His green eyes glittered as he raised up on one elbow. He pulled at Snape, tugging him towards him until their mouths met. His tongue flicked across Snape's lips, plunged between them, coaxing, licking, teasing.

Snape pushed him backwards against the bed, pressing the slick head of his cock against Potter's entrance. He pulled back and stared down at the younger man. "You're certain?" he asked, his voice rough with need.

Potter's only answer was to pull him into yet another desperate kiss, his fingers tangling in Snape's limp hair.

Snape pushed into the boy slowly, his breath catching at the sheer pleasure. He stared down at Potter. "You're tight," he murmured, his teeth grazing the boy's swollen bottom lip.

Potter pushed up against him, taking him in further. "I'm not a virgin, if that's what you're asking," he said with a laugh that quickly turned into a moan. "Oh, god."

Snape bit his shoulder, sliding his tongue across his sweat-slicked skin. "It wasn't." He pushed deeper, sliding into the burning warmth of Potter's body. "Although I am grateful to know I'm not responsible for your--" He gasped as Potter's legs wrapped around his arse, pulling him flush up against the younger man. "For your deflowerment," he choked out.

Green eyes gleamed up at him. "Too much talk," Potter whispered, his breath skittering lightly across the damp skin of Snape's neck. He thrust his hips up. "Fuck me."

With a muffled curse, Snape began to move, his hips undulating against Potter's. Slowly, he shoved into the boy, Potter meeting him thrust for thrust. Snape's blood pounded through his veins, his body ached, his flushed skin tingled with each arch of the boy against him, with each plunge deeper into Potter's sweet warmth.

He threw his head back, sweat dripping from his brow, sliding down his nose. He slammed into the boy, his arms shaking with the effort of keeping himself upright.

"Harder," Potter urged, his gasps raw and needy. He keened softly as he writhed against Snape, arching up to press his sweaty skin against Snape's. "Fuck. Harder. Please. Oh god. Severus!"

Snape closed his fingers tight around Potter's wet cock, delighting in the way the boy's face twisted into a rictus of pleasure. A sharp tug, a second, and Potter shouted, a harsh, wordless cry wrenched from his throat, as thick bursts of come covered Snape's fingers, covered their bellies with each jerk of the boy's hips.

Snape pounded harder into Potter, pushing the boy's limp body across the mattress, his balls aching for release. He felt the familiar tight coil twine its way around his spine, building deeper, higher, stronger until, with a rasping groan, he was swept under by the crashing wave of sticky-sweaty-white hot need.

He collapsed, spent, upon the boy, barely aware of Potter's arms pulling him closer, of Potter's mouth sliding gently across his sweat-dampened skin, of Potter's hands stroking down his shaking back. He turned his head towards Potter, burying his face in the slick curve of Potter's neck. "Harry," he murmured, his warm breath skittering across Potter's collarbone, his eyes drifting closed.

His young lover smiled against Snape's hair. "Severus," he whispered, kissing the top of Snape's head. "Sleep."

He did, peaceful at last.

******************************************

Dim, early morning light filtered through the dusty white lawn curtains at the window. Snape stood at the foot of the rumpled bed, fastening the buttons on his robe. His gaze drifted to the sleeping man sprawled on his stomach across the bed, the white cotton sheet twisted loosely around his slender frame. Snape's dark eyes traced the graceful arc of the boy's back, the smooth, tight muscles of his shoulders, the perfect curve of his pale calf, the sculpted swell of his arse underneath the sheet still damp with sweat and sex. Potter's unruly black hair stood out in clumps, tangled from Snape's clutching fingers, his dark eyelashes curled against flushed cheeks.

Snape closed his eyes, the image of that perfect body burned upon his mind. The room still reeked of their fucking--of sweat and semen and musky arousal. He could still taste the boy's come on his tongue, salty-sweet-bitter. He licked his bottom lip and opened his eyes only to find Potter staring sleepily at him. _Fuck._

"Hey," the boy whispered, his voice husky with sleep and sex. "Happy Christmas." He sat up, the sheet falling to his waist, revealing the dark trail of hair winding its way down his flat belly. He rubbed at his eyes and yawned wide. He smiled at Snape and crawled towards the foot of the bed. "Exactly where do you think you're going?"

Snape tugged at his sleeve cuffs, averting his eyes. "Hogwarts."

Potter blinked at him. "A bit early for that, isn't it?"

Snape sighed. He mustered every ounce of the bastard within him and gave Potter his most malevolent glower. The boy rocked back on his knees. "Exactly where would you have me go, then, Potter?" he asked, his voice cool, his insides twisting. He had no choice but to do this, that he knew full well. No matter what the boy thought, he could not--would not--remain with Snape. The wizarding world would not countenance such a betrayal on the part of their sacrificial lamb. _Death Eaters do not deserve heroes,_ his mind whispered.

"You could stay here," Potter said sharply, his eyes narrowing. "Not run away."

Snape curled his lip into his usual sneer. "Oh. And for what reason should I stay, Potter? I've already buggered you quite thoroughly." His stomach wrenched at the stunned pain that crossed Potter's pale face.

"That's all this was to you?" Potter asked quietly, pulling the sheet around his shoulders.

Snape felt the boy prod lightly at the edges of his mind. He slammed him out, a burst of anger exploding in the tenuous connection between them. He could not be certain if it was solely his. "Stop that," he snarled.

"Then answer me."

Snape met Potter's angry gaze calmly. "You're a good fuck, Potter." He reached for his wand on the sidetable and tucked it into his pocket. "A very good fuck." He turned towards the door. "But that's all."

A jet of red light shot past him and cracked against the door. He stopped, staring at the smoking hole in the thick wood. He tightened his jaw as he turned around.

Potter was standing next to the bed, nude, his wand clutched tight in one trembling, white-knuckled hand. He glared at his former professor. "You're a sodding hypocrite."

Snape said nothing.

"I don't know what you're playing at, Snape," Potter said, his voice deadly quiet. "But you taught me to know well enough when I'm looking at a liar."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "If that is what you believe, then ask yourself what possible reasons I might have for lying." He opened the door. "Goodbye, Mr. Potter."

He stepped into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him. He splayed his fingers against the carved mahogany. "Goodbye, Harry," he murmured.

With a swirl of his robes, he stalked down the hallway, wanting only to reach the comfort of his own chambers.

******************************************

**  
** __  


MINISTER OF MAGIC DIES

__

by Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent, Daily Prophet

Cornelius Fudge, Britain's Minister of Magic, was found dead in his office early on Boxing Day from an apparent heart attack, according to Healers at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Fudge, 78, had not been known to be in ill health previously. When this intrepid reporter sought to discover if said explanation was in fact true, a spokeswitch for the hospital informed her, rather testily, that if the Minister had not had such a fondness for his port and his sausages, he might still fill his office.

Ministry officials have had no comment upon the crisis, other than to say that Deputy Minister Olivia Hartswell will currently be taking over Mr. Fudge's duties. A memorial service has been planned for Tuesday, December 28 at Westminster Abbey, London. According to Percy I. Weasley, Assistant Undersecretary to the Minister, "any witch or wizard of any prominence at all had better well be there. We're to give the Minister a proper send-off."

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement reports that security will be heightened at the venerable Abbey that day. Muggle-repellent charms will be used and all mourners are asked to Apparate directly into the Abbey itself.

Snape shifted in the Abbey pew as yet another Ministry toady climbed the steps to the podium at the front of the church nave. He yawned, making no attempt to hide his boredom. McGonagall jabbed him sharply with her elbow.

"Behave yourself, Severus," she hissed.

He gave her a testy glare and settled back against the hard wooden bench. "This is bloody ridiculous, you realise this."

"Don't speak disrespectfully of the dead." McGonagall peered over her spectacles at him, frowning. "It's not proper."  


Snape sighed and arched his back, wincing as it cracked. "What's not proper are these blasted benches. If I'd known we'd be sitting here for two hours listening to an utter idiot like Fudge of all people be eulogised in this manner, I'd have used a Cushioning Charm. We didn't sit this long for Albus, and he was much more deserving of this worship than that ignorant dolt we repeatedly insisted upon electing."

McGonagall merely looked at him reproachfully.

The congregation stood around them as the officiant began his solemn prayer.

"Oh, sodding Circe, tell me that we're about to end this miserable farce," Snape muttered as he clambered to his feet, back stiff.

The flag-covered coffin was carried down the aisle to the solemn cadences of Brahms' _Begr--bnisgesang_. Slowly the mourners--such as they were--filed out behind the pallbearers. Snape followed the crush of wizards and witches to the Abbey's entry hall, McGonagall at his heels.

A young red-haired witch crashed into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. "Bloody hell, watch yourself, chit!" he snarled.

"So sorry." The girl looked up at him. "Oh. Professor."

Snape found himself staring into Ginny Weasley's wide eyes. "Miss Weasley."

A wizard a few steps in front of her turned around, peering over the heads of a group of witches that had separated them. "Ginny?"

"Bloody fuck," Snape muttered. The Weasley girl shot him a sideways look.

McGonagall, poked his back with her sharp fingernail. He winced. "Watch yourself, Severus."

Potter pushed through the crowd. His smile faded the moment he saw Snape, his far too revelatory eyes immediately shuttered, his mouth drawing up into tight, thin line. He looked at McGonagall and nodded. "Professor." His eyes skittered over the space in which Snape was standing, the snub of his former professor obvious. He looked at the Weasley girl. "We need to leave."

"I thought we were going to wait for Mum and Dad," she protested.

"We need to leave _now, _Ginny." Potter's eyes flicked briefly to Snape.

"Potter." Snape gritted his teeth.

The boy looked at him, anger crackling from him. "I've nothing to say to you,_ sir."_ His lip curled in disdain. "So, if I may speak plainly, you ought to just shut it now." He grabbed the Weasley girl's hand. "Come on."

With an apologetic (and slightly frightened) glance backwards, the girl allowed herself to be dragged through the crowd.

"Well," McGonagall said. "That was...interesting."

Snape glared at her. "Oh, do sod off, Minerva."

He Apparated, leaving her standing alone, mouth ajar.

****************************************

Snape sat staring sightlessly at the crackling fire, bottle of whisky between his legs, his thoughts filled with images of Potter. Inky black eyelashes curled against pale cheeks. The soft oh of his mouth as he arched against Snape's body. The gentle touch of his fingertips sliding down Snape's spine. The warm glow radiating from those green eyes as he smiled up at his former professor, sated and content.

Snape slammed his head against the back of the leather chair, screwing his eyes shut. Bloody fucking hell.

"Drinking again, Severus?"

"Go the sodding fuck away, Albus." Snape didn't bother to open his eyes as he lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long swig.

He felt the ghost of the headmaster brush past him, leaving a lingering clammy chill on his skin. He opened one eye. "I'll find an exorcism that works one day, you realise."

The headmaster beamed at him from his perch on the leather ottoman. He patted Snape's thigh, his misty hand vanishing in the rumpled black fabric of the potions master's robe. "Of course you will." He raised one eyebrow. "Why the whisky, Severus?"

"Because I happen to enjoy it." Snape took another gulp from the bottle. He lowered it and glared at Dumbledore. "And I'd rather like to get rat-arsed. By myself, if you please." He glanced pointedly at the door.

Dumbledore gave him a level look. "What is it that you regret? Sleeping with the lad--" He held up his hand at Severus' incredulous look. "Yes, I know what happened between you and young Mr. Potter." He smiled faintly. "I find it much easier to read you, Severus, now that I'm dead. Odd that. Perhaps it bears further research."

"Bloody fuck," Snape mumbled. "That's all I need. A meddlesome old bastard's ghost reading my every thought." He glowered at the headmaster. "What am I thinking now?"

The headmaster laughed. "Something that is quite impossible for me to do in my present state, my boy." His amusement faded. "As I was saying, Severus, what do you regret? Sleeping with Harry or leaving him the way you did, with the impression that your actions meant nothing to you?"

Snape looked away, merely taking another drink.

Dumbledore watched him sadly. "Do not forbid yourself to love, Severus."

Snape stared into the shadows across the room, his fingers tightening on the bottle, his thumb stroking its narrow neck. "Don't, Albus."

"You love him," the headmaster said simply.

Snape's jaw tightened. "I love no one."

"Severus--"

"I believe I told you to get out of my rooms, Albus," Snape said, his voice dangerously low. He leaned forward, his dark eyes glittering in the firelight. "So. Get the fuck out."

Dumbledore's shoulders drooped. He nodded and rose. "As you wish, my boy." He slid through the floor, leaving Snape in the empty, silent room.

The potions master slumped back in the chair, the familiar comfort of desolate loneliness enveloping him.

He took another drink and stared into the flames flickering against the dark stones of the hearth.

****************************************

Snape pushed his way through the throng of shoppers crowding Diagon Alley. He swore under his breath, barely stopping himself from grabbing his wand and hexing a heavy, elderly witch who had just trod upon his toe with her high-heeled boot.

He ought to have just owled his order to Slug and Jiggers.

He rounded the corner next to Fortescue's, only to pause upon hearing his name called. He turned to see a tall, close-cropped blond man waving him over. He frowned at him, unable to place the face. Certainly it was not one of his former students. He strode over, brow furrowed.

"Hello, Professor Snape." The man eyed him coolly.

"Who are you?" Snape snapped. "I've no time for guessing games."

The man blinked, then grinned. "Oh. Yes. Last time you saw me I looked a bit different." He raised his voice a bit. "Do you recall me now?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Finch-Fletchley."  


The younger man bowed dramatically. "At your service, sir." He stood up. "Please call me Nigel."

"I'll call you what I bloody well please." Snape looked him up and down. "What is it you want of me?"

Nigel's eyebrows drew together. "I want to know what the bloody fuck you did to Harry." He stepped closer to Snape, his brown eyes intent upon Snape's obsidian slits. "He's been miserable since Christmas." His jaw tightened. "And I know he was with you that night."

"What makes you think that?"

Nigel snorted. "Call it drag queen's intuition, love."

Snape's mouth thinned. "Watch your tongue, boy. You're only a Muggle. And whatever may or may not have occurred between Mr. Potter and myself is our personal business. Not some _on dit_ to be bandied about."

Nigel waved his warning off. "Yes, well, as we Muggles say, sod that." He glared at Snape. "All I can gather from the small bit Harry the Obscure has told me is that you buggered him senseless and then walked away, claiming he was nothing but a good fuck." His lip curled in a sneer. "Not good form, sir. Not at all."

"Your concern is utterly unappreciated, Finch-Fletchley."

"I'm sure it is, sir." Nigel gave him an appraising look. "But if you'll pardon my inescapable curiosity, I would like to know why you left him on Christmas morning. In that particular manner."

Snape bared his teeth and leaned closer, his nostrils flaring. "Because Mr. Potter _was_ nothing but a good fuck."

"Bollocks," Nigel said. "Utter bollocks, sir. I saw the way you watched him two weeks past. Even then you looked as if you were willing to devour him." Nigel gave Snape a piercing look. "I know what a starving man looks like, professor. And you were utterly famished for Harry." He paused, then smiled faintly. "As he was for you. That's not the kind of hunger easily assuaged by one brief taste."

Snape exhaled sharply. "I neither need nor want your interpretation of events." He turned on his heel.

Nigel caught the sleeve of his robe. Snape looked back, black eyes snapping. Nigel dropped his hand hastily.

"Please, just hear me out."

Snape frowned at him. "You have approximately thirty seconds."

Nigel rolled his eyes. "Right then." He sighed. "Harry's miserable." He looked Snape up and down. "You don't look so good yourself. Been drinking a few of your meals, have you?" At Snape's glower, he shrugged. "Nothing wrong with that. I've done it myself a time or two. Er. Hundred."

"Get on with it," Snape hissed through gritted teeth.

"I just think perhaps whatever happened on Christmas Eve might not have been the mistake you both seem to consider it to be." Nigel gave him an even look. "Otherwise, I doubt you'd both be so upset by it."

"Whatever has given you the idea that I am upset?" Snape sneered at the younger man. "I can assure you, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, that I have no opinion at all upon the matter."

Nigel shrugged. "Of course. And that's why you sent Harry's owl back unopened."

Snape's jaw tensed.

"There you are!" A young man, curly-haired and pink-cheeked, hurried across the street towards them. "I've been looking all over for you. I've got the books I ordered--" He pulled up short at the sight of Snape. "Oh. Professor Snape."

Snape flicked his eyes over the well-dressed man. "Mr. Finch-Fletchley." A small smirk curled his upper lip. "I do hope you're not attempting to further your education on potions."

"No, sir." The former Hufflepuff swallowed hard. "Transfigurations, actually. Er. You've met my brother--"

Snape cut him off. "Yes." He looked back at Nigel. "A...pleasure...as always." He nodded to both. "You will excuse me."  


"Of course." Justin bobbed his head in reply.

Snape stepped past them both, his black robes sweeping across the pavement.

"What were you doing talking to _him?" _ he heard the younger Finch-Fletchley whisper.

"Belt up for once, Justin," Nigel said. He raised his voice. "Professor Snape!"

Snape stopped and glanced over his shoulder "Yes?"  


"Shall I give your regards to Harry then?" Nigel met his gaze coolly and raised one eyebrow. His brother glanced between the two, bewildered.

Snape scowled. "I rather think that should be quite unnecessary." He pursed his lips. "In plain English, no."

He turned on his heel and marched towards Slug and Jiggers, his mind whirling with the utter effrontery of that arrogant little Muggle shit. Giving him advice as if he were some lovelorn fool.

He slammed the door to the apothecary open, startling the scrawny, bug-eyed witch behind the counter.

Bloody hell if he was going to take some half-grown Muggle's suggestions on how to conduct his life. A fuck was a fuck was a fuck. Nothing more.

He reached for a large bag of crushed bat wingbones.

And if Potter couldn't accept that, he was well rid of the brat.

****************************************

__

Professor Snape,

Ginny, Harry and I are throwing a bit of New Year's Eve celebration at our flat on, well, New Year's Eve this year. (Surprising, eh?) Actually Ginny and I are mostly responsible for it. Harry wants us all to bugger off about the whole mess, but we're marking that up to him being utterly put out with your prattish behaviour about--well. You know what about.

Nevertheless, after much discussion, Ginny and I would like to extend an invitation to you to join us at 164-B Stoddard Lane in London, December 31 at around seven o'clock in the evening. We're rather certain you'll probably not be interested, but on the off chance you might...I reckon Harry might possibly be glad to see you. Don't worry...we haven't told him we're inviting you. Neither of us want to be the one responsible for getting his hopes up only to be dashed. Again.

Your move, Professor. I only hope you have the bollocks to go for a checkmate.

Yours, etc.

Nigel Finch-Fletchley

Snape fished the note from the bin for the fifteenth time that evening. He smoothed it out, staring at the crumpled parchment. He'd made his decision. He was sticking to it.

Wasn't he?

"Bloody hell," he growled. This was ridiculous. He pushed back his chair and stood with a frustrated grunt. Even considering it to be an option was mad.

"I think you should go, you know."

Snape whirled around to find Dumbledore floating next to his worktable, poking ineffectually at a clump of damp gillyweed.

"Yes, I know," Dumbledore said, cutting off Snape's sharp retort. "You're quite angry that I've invaded your chambers once more, and you're continuing to research the possibility of exorcising me from your presence. Let's not rehash old arguments, Severus."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Then stay out of my private rooms, Albus." He sniffed. "And my private affairs, for that matter."

"You want to attend, my boy," Dumbledore pointed out. "I've watched you fish that letter from the rubbish bin several times now."

Snape glared at him.

"You made a mistake, Severus." Dumbledore said frankly. "And you're regretting it now. As always." He shook his head. "You have the opportunity to correct it. Don't let it pass you by."

"If I wanted your opinion, Albus--"

"You'd have asked me," Dumbledore finished. "Of this I am quite aware." He peered into a bubbling cauldron and wrinkled his transparent nose. "Nasty stuff, that one." He looked up at Snape. "Nevertheless, my boy, I feel well within my rights as your friend--"

Snape snorted. Dumbledore frowned at him.

"As your friend," he continued, "I should tell you that you're being quite the idiot over this matter." He gazed at Snape over the rims of his spectacles. "So I would advise you to stop showing your arse and go to the boy." He glanced over at the clock. "Now, if you would excuse me, I think I've time to go pester Minerva for a brief while." He drifted towards the door, looking back over his shoulder. "Just consider it, Severus."

"Fine," Snape said wearily. "Just leave me be."

Dumbledore slid through the door silently. Snape watched as the last fringe of his robe disappeared into the heavy mahogany. He leaned back in his chair and sighed, his eyes drifting back to the missive on his desk. It would be a complete mistake, this he knew full well. And yet...

He could not forget the taste of Potter's lips.

He sighed again and ran a hand through his limp hair. It was mad. Completely mad.

And yet...

He shoved his chair back. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. He would not lower himself like that. Never.

He crumpled the note, tossed it into the bin, and fired an Incendio at the small wad of parchment, watching in satisfaction as it burst into flame.

Decision made.

He picked up his quill once more.

*************************************

Snape pounded on the red door, sneering at the gold-plated lion's head knocker. He could hear the sounds of laughter and loud music emanating from within. He crossed his arms over his chest and schooled his face into its usual impassive glower.

The door flew open, and Ginny Weasley gaped up at him. She blinked rapidly, her eyes wide. "Professor Snape. Sir."

"I'm here to speak with Potter, not join this preposterous fete of yours." Snape stepped into the entryway. "Where is he?"  


The girl pointed towards the brightly lit parlour. "In there, last I saw."

Snape nodded and strode into the crowded room. Heads turned. He bit back a groan. The bloody whole of Gryffindor House seemed to have been invited to this soiree. Longbottom. Granger. Creevey--elder and younger. The entire sodding Weasley clan. His lips thinned.

"Professor Snape." Nigel Finch-Fletchley strode forward, voice raised over the pounding music--if that was what the cacophonous noise could be called. "You were able to come."

Snape narrowed his eyes at him, ignoring the younger man's outstretched hand and the eyes watching them in undisguised interest. The music cut off; the room grew silent. Snape swore silently.

"Where's Potter?" he snapped.

Nigel looked around. "He was here a moment ago..."

"I'm here."

Snape turned. Potter stood behind him, arms crossed, mouth tight. "I would like to speak with you."

"I don't see what we have to discuss," Potter said, eyes shuttered. "I think you've already made your position clear."

Snape nodded. "Perhaps I have. Nevertheless, I do believe some clarification may be in order." He glanced around, taking in the curious faces turned towards them. "In private, might I add?"

Potter eyed him, then nodded curtly. "Fine then." He started towards a set of French doors.

"Harry?" Ronald Weasley stepped forward. He glared at Snape. "You reckon it's a good idea, talking to the bastard?"  


Potter smiled faintly at him. "I think I can handle him," he said quietly. "Thank you."

Weasley gave Snape a withering look. "If you need me..."

Potter nodded. Snape rolled his eyes. "Never fear, Mr. Weasley, I shall endeavour not to attempt anything that might cause him to require your dubious assistance."

"Belt up," Potter snapped. There was a collective gasp of horror that echoed across the room. Longbottom whimpered.

Snape narrowed his eyes at the young man in front of him. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me." Potter opened one of the French doors. "If we are going to talk?"

Snape strode past him, anger radiating from him. Potter followed him onto the tiny terrace, shutting the door firmly behind him. Snape glared at him.

"Was that little display of arrogance entirely necessary?"

Potter merely looked at him, arms crossed again over his chest. "You're not going to walk over me like you did in school. I want that perfectly clear." His jaw clenched. "You will never do that again."

Snape snorted. "I never walked over you." He jerked his chin towards the doors, ignoring Potter's incredulous look. "I suppose they all know?"

Potter's eyes shifted. He frowned. "Not because I told them." He sighed. "Ron never could keep a secret."

"Remind me to cast Cruciatus upon him later," Snape murmured.

Potter gave him a half-smile. "I've already thought of it," he admitted.

They stood in silence for a moment. Finally, Potter turned towards Snape. "What is it you wanted of me?"

Snape stared out into the dark sky. He sighed. "If I could answer that, Mr. Potter, I'm not certain I should be standing here." He hesitated. "I have thought of you often these past few days."

Potter merely looked at him.

Snape glanced at him. "Perhaps I said things that were not true."

Potter drew closer, his eyes fixed on Snape's. "Such as?"

Snape swallowed hard and looked away. "You are fully aware of what they might be."

Potter's fingers brushed his cheek, turning Snape's face back towards him. "I want to hear you say it."

Snape stared into nervous green eyes. He licked his bottom lip. "You refuse to make things easy, do you, Potter?"

"Harry," the boy murmured. "And no, I don't." He smiled faintly. "I'm not certain things could ever be easy between us anyway."

"Perhaps not." Snape studied the young man's face. "Harry."

Harry's palm cupped his cheek. "Severus."

They gazed at each other.

"I'm not an easy man," Snape murmured. "I can be--" He hesitated. "Difficult."

"I rather like a challenge." Harry brushed his mouth across Snape's. "You should know that about me by now."

Snape pulled him closer, burying his face in the soft mess of Harry's hair. "I shan't be anything but a bastard. If you expect romance and flowers, I am not your man."

"I'm allergic to flowers," Harry whispered, his fingers sliding across Snape's shoulders. "And romance."

Snape snorted. "You say that now--"

Harry kissed him, his teeth nipping Snape's bottom lip. "Do you want me?"

Snape drew a shaky breath. "Evidently, yes." He frowned. "More fool I."

Harry twined his fingers with Snape's. "Good." He stepped back. "Come with me then."

He led Snape back into the house, ignoring the silence that greeted their return. Snape bit back a snort of laughter at the shocked expressions on the faces turned towards them and at Harry's calm disregard of the buzzing amongst his friends. The boy had bollocks, that much was certain.

"Harry--" Hermione Granger caught his arm.

Harry glanced at her, a smile curving his lips. "Tomorrow, Hermione."

Snape leaned forward. "Or the next day, Miss Granger." Harry laughed.

She blushed, her mouth forming a small oh. "Right."

Harry pulled Snape towards the stairs. "You've embarrassed her," he murmured.

Snape shrugged, his arm sliding around the younger man's waist, pulling him up against him. He pushed his hips forward, grinding his quickly swelling cock against Harry's arse. Harry moaned softly, stumbling on the stairs. "I should think the direction in which you are taking me would inform the entire room of our destination." He slid his hand up under Harry's jumper. "Was that not your intention, Mr. Potter?" His fingers slipped over Harry's nipple, pinching lightly.

"You're a prat," Harry said, reaching back to cup Snape's erection through his robe. The potions master hissed. Harry grinned and yanked him into a darkened bedroom.

He pushed Snape against the door, his mouth moving over his jaw, his neck, his lips. Snape kissed him hungrily, greedily, tangling his fingers in Harry's soft hair. The boy pulled back, gasping.

"I want you." Snape bit Harry's jaw. "I want you in me." He stilled, shocked at his own request.

Harry's eyes widened. "Oh." He shivered under Snape's hands. "Oh, fuck."

Harry's fingers tugged at Snape's robe, tearing at the fabric. With a groan, Snape helped him, tugging and jerking at the black wool until it puddled at his feet. Harry yanked Snape's shirt open, his fingers sliding over the potions master's flushed skin. Harry pulled him towards the bed, tumbling upon the rumpled coverlet with a sigh. He rolled over atop his former professor, his mouth tracing a burning trail across Snape's chest.

Snape moaned and pulled at the boy's clothes, unconcerned about anything other than the feel of that soft skin against his palms. Harry helped him, stripping quickly, the pink tip of his tongue circling Snape's pebbled nipple as he kicked off his jeans.

Harry tugged at Snape's trousers, pulling them down the potions master's long, lanky legs, his mouth following them. He loomed over Snape, eyes soft. "You're certain?"

Snape nodded. "Turnabout is fair play, Mr. Pott--" He caught himself. "Harry." His palms slid down Harry's chest, his stomach, coming to rest at his hips. He stared down at the thatch of dark curls surrounding Harry's swollen cock. He felt his own erection tighten. Yes. This was exactly what he wanted. Surprisingly enough. He licked his lips. "Most certain."

Harry pulled a small phial from the sidetable. He smiled down at his lover. "No time to learn that spell."

Snape pushed his hips forward. "That will do." He watched, his cock aching, as Harry drizzled the thick oil over his fingers. "Hurry," he murmured, reaching up and plucking the boy's spectacles from his nose.

He hissed as Harry's fingers entered him, caressing his tight hole. It had been so long... He forced himself to relax. Slowly, gently, the younger man began to stroke him, his fingers dipping deeper within Snape with each careful thrust. Snape moaned as the burning gave way to pleasure when Harry's fingertips brushed across his sensitive nub. He arched his back, pushing further against those slender fingers.

"More," he gasped, his fingers closing around his aching cock. "Harry..."  


Harry's fingers slid out, much to his dismay, only to be replaced by the damp head of the boy's cock. "Oh, god," Harry moaned, pushing into Snape. The potions master pushed back, taking him in deeper.

Harry thrust in completely, stretching him wide. Snape grunted, his fingers jerking at his cock. He spread his legs wider, lifted up to meet Harry's next stroke. The boy gasped.

They moved together, their bodies writhing against one another, their thrusts perfectly matched, their mouths biting, sucking, kissing sweat-slicked skin.

Faster, Harder, Deeper.

Snape was lost in the perfect rhythm of his body against Harry's.

Gasping. Panting, Groaning.

Sweat. Musk. Arousal.

The world crystallised around him, freezing for one exquisite moment as Snape hung on the edge, his body arched, tight, trembling, before it exploded around him, shattering into a million technicolor fragments as sheer pleasure rocketed through his lanky frame.

Harry thrust wildly into him, his dark hair sweaty and hanging limply in his eyes. His muscles tensed, his arms shook as he shouted, neck curving, head thrown back. A rush of sticky white heat flooded Snape and he pulled Harry down upon him.

Dazed, Harry turned his head, swiping a shaky kiss against Snape's throat. "Beautiful," he mumbled against Snape's damp skin. "God. So fucking beautiful."

Snape wrapped his arms around the boy's quivering body, stroking Hary's back until his breathing evened out into the soft rhythm of sleep.

He kissed Harry gently, his palm circling the his young lover's cheek.

"Happy New Year, Mr. Potter," he murmured.

He stared into the pale moonlight streaming through the windowpanes.

"God help us both."

_ **-fin-** _


End file.
